


Life On The Murder Scene

by Prototype



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prototype/pseuds/Prototype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've got your back, and you've got mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life On The Murder Scene

**Life on the Murder Scene**

 

“You got my back?”

I snorted like it was obvious. “Have I got your back? Dude, I’ve _always_ got your back, you moron,” I told him, shaking my head as I mentally checked everything through in my head.

He rolled his eyes and stubbed his cigarette out, throwing it to the floor and twisting it into the ground, his hair in his eyes. My best friend. An idiot, a reckless son of a bitch, and still somehow my best friend.

“Yeah, but I gotta know you’re not gonna…y’know, bail on me,” he said, avoiding my accusing eyes. We were leaning against the side of shop on a grimy highstreet. We were waiting for our signal, seeing my brother turn the corner onto the street in the car we’d appropriated the night before.

I looked down at the clothes we were wearing and groaned. “If I didn’t bail on you when you first told me this stupid idea, and then I didn’t bail on you when you showed me the shit you wanted me to wear, then why would I bail on you now?”

He shrugged shiftily, raising his hand self consciously to adjust the hood covering his head.

“Your mom still thinks we’re in your basement, right?”

I groaned, he’d been asking the same questions over and over – checking so many times over I was sick of answering them.

“Yes, for the thousandth time. She thinks you, me, Mikes and the girls are in the basement, watching horror movies, eating popcorn and fornicating,” I recited once again in a dead tone voice, rolling my eyes. I personally hated  this whole idea, but mates are mates, right?

Wrong. Mates are people with similar interests you hang out with, talk to, chill out with – all that shite. Frank’s my best friend. Friends are harder to have. You have to trust them with everything, you have to believe in them more than yourself. Friends are more permanent than tattoos. You can lose mates, you never lose friends.

A friend is someone who is there for you when he'd rather be anywhere else. And honest to God, I’d rather be anywhere in the world than here.

Anyone else, I would have refused. My brother, my girlfriend, anyone else and I would’ve told them to buggar off, that it would never work – that they were fucking mental.

Frank _is_ mental, and he’s my best friend, which you might have gathered. So, no bitching and no bailing.

“Good…” he sighed, rubbing his neck. “I feel like an idiot,”

“You look like one too. And, may I point out, so do I. Where the fuck is Mikes?!” I muttered angrily, hating the looks people were giving us.

Frank didn’t answer, muttering under his breath.

I knew what he was doing – he was checking everything under his breath. Clothes, check, bail car, check, knife, check, no ID at all, check, gun, check. Loyal friend, check.

“Frank, chill, we’ve been over this a thousand times. You take point, the shop owner, I take side – anyone else, I’ll grab the cash, you shoot and then we’re gone,”

He didn’t say anything, his eyes scanning the street for Mikey and the car.

“Why didn’t she wait for me?” he groaned, going back to the broken record of his current dilemma. I groaned again, hitting his shoulder.

“Stop torturing yourself, it wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t her fault either,” I told him, easing it as I always did. I hated it when he tortured himself like this. “It was all his,”. When it first happened, both Frank and Jamia were shattered. I’ve never seen two people so wretched. Jamia wouldn’t come out for weeks without someone with her at all times. She was jumpy and scared and she still had nightmares. Frank, on the other hand, went mental. Like, properly mental.

He drank so much more, turning up at my house at all hours of the night or morning smashed beyond belief. He took everything that came his way, which luckily wasn’t too much more than what we already indulged in. He was insane with anger and regrets. Then he came up with this plan and it changed him, it gave him drive and purpose – he stopped wallowing and he finally stopped torturing himself. When he asked me to help me, I knew I had to – to save him, and his girl.

So here I was.

“I’m gonna kill him…” he whispered, in the tiniest voice. “I’m gonna go up there in that motherfucking place and I’m gonna kill him…”

It was the perfect plan. We knew who’d done it, she’d told him when she’d finally stopped crying and shaking. He worked in the roughest part of town, the part where people died crossing the street too late at night. Frank was gonna kill him and I’d nab the cash to make it look like a smash and grab. No one could trace it back to her, we were certain.

We’d even dressed like chavs to cover our tracks.

I didn’t say anything to him, wishing Mikey would turn up so we could just get this over with. My stomach was clenched in an icy, tingling grip. I was terrified, my muscles stiff. I didn’t know if I could do it, but I was gonna bloody well try.

I wondered what this was like for Frankie…his first murder, and in the name of love. I didn’t ever ask if she was worth life in prison, worth the turmoil of taking a life. I knew she was to him – he loved her.

I sighed and turned to him properly, watching him fire up another cigarette.

“Frank…I feel I’ve gotta say something, just in case-“

“No ‘just in case’. Just say whatever it is you want to – but no ‘just in case’, ok?” he said edgily. “We’re both pulling through this,” he said stubbornly.

I grinned. “No doubt, dude, but I gotta tell you…”

Jesus, I’d said this a million times to him before but right now, when it counted most, the full weight of the words hit me.

“I love you, mate, you’re my best fucking friend…I’d do anything for you, I’m glad you trusted me enough to ask me to help you,” I said, offering my hand to him. “I won't go down by myself but I'll go down with you,”

He looked at me for the first time that day, his eyes bloodshot and wild with tense fear. He smiled solidly, right from the centre of his being and took my hand, clasping our palms together and wrapped fingers around our wrists, gripping with white knuckles. 

“To the end, Ger,” he said, nodding. “Friends,”

I grinned back. “To the motherfucking end,” I agreed. 

We went back to leaning against the store wall, adjusting our shitty trackpants and hoodies, feeling uncomfortable in our skins. We were about to be bathed in sin, adding another name to the bullet riddled walls of death of our town. This murder scene we lived in. 

“There’s your bro,” whispered Frank. “Time to go,”

Everything that happened before we were inside the shop ached my limb with heaviness. We nodded to Mikey who pulled over, wearing all black and unreasonable in his NJ hat and hoodie. The steps into the dark little store, the motions of pulling my hood further down my face, pulling the bandana up over my mouth and nose. Soon I snapped back and we were in too deep. 

“Hands in the air!” yelled Frank somewhere next to me. I turned around, checking the shop from front to back, no customers, just the scum behind the counter. I turned back, aiming the weapon I’d pulled free to glint in the amber light at him, alongside Frank’s steady arms. I was trembling, but I didn’t let it show. 

“Come out from behind the counter, on the floor!” yelled Frank. The man, the piece of shit, nodded. He was scared, panicking. He walked out, shaking, and tripping on his way. Frank yelled it again, forcing him onto the floor where we could see him. 

“Dude, go,” he said to me. 

Everything was going so fast. I thought I’d…I don’t know, be taking everything in. I thought these seconds would last lifetimes, that I’d notice stuff like the whites of the man’s eyes, or how fast my heart was beating. I didn’t. 

All I really remember is grabbing the money out of the til hastily, stuffing it into the bag on my shoulder, the notes fluttering angrily. Frank was silent, staring at the sick son of s bitch that raped his girlfriend and when I was ready, all I could really remember was the shot. 

It was so loud my ears rang and a piercing static went through my skull. And then…I was on the floor, crying out. It fucking _hurt_. 

“GER!” yelled Frank, firing more shots, filling the air with the stench of blood and hot metal. I rolled onto my back, feeling shots of pain fill my body. My ribs felt shattered, my side crippling me. My hands were covered in blood. 

I glanced up. The man on the floor wasn’t moving, his head messy with something dark and shiny – blood. The man now slumped against the opposite wall was the same, eyes open and glassy, his chest filled with two rounds of bullets. 

“We gotta go,” Frank hissed in my ear, his arms pulling my up under my arms, wrenching me up. “Come on, come on!”

I couldn’t move, my legs weak and my hands shaking as I held my side shut, holding the blood bubbling out around my fingers. I was in shock, I was freaking out. 

“Fuck!” I kept yelling. 

The bag of money was netted across my shoulder, soaked in blood and dripping. It hit me in the face as Frank forced me up and over his shoulder. How was he carrying me? I wondered, staring at the pavement beneath me as it jerked and moved. I could see his feet running, feel his hands gripping me. People yelled, car tires screeched and a door flew open as Frank threw me in first before crashing on top of me. 

“Drive! DRIVE!” I heard him scream as I slumped onto the car floor between the seats, groaning. My head swam, my stomach unclenched as vomit spewed on my chin and into my hair. “Oh Christ, Gerard,” groaned Frank, wiping my face with his hoodie, pressing it to my side to soak up the blood. “Mikey, SHUT UP and drive to the hospital!” he yelled, his voice high and scared.

I can’t remember what Mikey was saying, my brother trying to see me whilst racing away from the scene of the crime. He went like the devil, and I knew, somehow, we’d gotten away with it. 

Only now, we had a bigger mess on our hands…

Why was I so fucking calm?!

“Frank…” I moaned, forcing my eyes open as my body slumped weakly. “Don’t let me fucking die, it’s getting fucking hard to fucking see,” I moaned, feeling so tired it dragged me. I felt like the grave was coming around me. 

I felt a hand strike my cheek dully. Frank’s bloodshot eyes met mine, his face inches from mine, his hands dragging me upright on the seat, pressing the wound closed with hoodies and calling my name.  
  
”Stay with me! Stay with me!”

I grinned weakly. 

“I’ll always be around you…that’s the whole fucking point, remember?”

Frank finally shut up, and listened to me, panting as Mikey drove like a madman to get me to the hospital, swearing the entire time. 

“What are you talking about, Gerard?” gasped Frank, panic in his voice. 

I blink lazily, forcing myself to stay there, in that moment, in that car, with my two best friends. 

“Remember the first fucking day of school? You were a fucking psycho even then,” I choked, coughing and feeling warm blood trickle out of my mouth. Frank’s eyes widened, he wasn’t paying attention properly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I was,” he said, wiping my chin quickly. “Stay with me,”

“That’s what you said,” I giggled stupidly. “You followed me to the bathroom, threw me against the bathroom wall-“

“Don’t forget how I questioned you about horror movies, rock music and tattoos,” he said, checking my wound like he had any idea what he was doing. It just made him go paler. I smiled, breathing and laughing hurting my shaking chest. 

“You were so crazy, you grinned and said we’d be friends…and then you got that fucking knife out, remember?” I giggled, and regretting it. Why was everything so flimsy and funny?

Frank nodded, pulling me up to try and make me more comfortable. He failed, but it seemed not to matter…

“Yeah, I remember…”he said, turning my palm up and smearing the blood off so the thin, white line could still be seen from the bottom of my index finger to the bottom of my hand, crossing across my heart and life line – mirroring the scar on his. We cut our friendship through our lives and our loves. Our friendship was meant to outlive everything else. 

And it was doing a bloody good job. 

“You said we’d stick together then,” I nodded. “And I have, I’m staying, I’m staying…” I whispered, my head lolling. He hit me again. 

“Stay awake, please!” he called loudly. “Mikes, hurry the fuck up!!” he screamed, so scared he couldn’t concentrate. I caught his scarred hand in mine, squeezing. He met my eyes again. 

“It’s ok…” I smiled, nodding. “It’s ok…”

His lip trembled. A tear fell out of his mangled eyelashes, blood streaked across his hands and face – my blood. 

“I’m so sorry…” he whispered. “You’re my best friend and I let this happen…” he whimpered. “I’m so fucking sorry,”

I shook my head. “We got him though,”

He shook it aside. “If I’d known this was gonna happen,” his voice quavered. I was taking everything in now… “I wouldn’t have done it,”

“It’s ok,” I assured him again, strangely calm…

“Why don’t you hate me right now?” he asked, shaking his head. I shrugged lazily. 

“It’s ok…doesn’t even hurt,” I lied. 

“I wish I hadn’t made you do it, so stupid!” he cursed. I frowned sloppily, the bright light outside the car fading. 

“But Jammy-“

“I love her, but I love you too…Jesus, Kate’s gonna fucking murder me if anything happens to you…” he whispered, smoothing my hair back off my face. I was sweating…but I felt cold. 

“It’s ok, Frank…you’re my best friend…I love you too…if we go down…we go…down…”

My eyes shifted shut, my body slumping. I was so…tired…I felt warm and cold at the same time…I felt exhausted…

“GERARD!” 

Someone screamed in my face. 

“FUCKING KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN! FUCKING TALK TO ME!”

I opened my eyes. 

“Together,” I grinned. 

Frank’s face was priceless. 

“Gotcha, motherfucker,” I smiled, coughing again and watching the hospital approach. 

“Get me to the doctor, already, I’m bleeding all over the motherfucking place here!”

That’s life on the murder scene, for you. It may be bloody, but at least it’s not lonely. 

 


End file.
